Only a True Gryffindor
by hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Summary: An invisible stranger arrives at Hogwarts. His objectives: to learn magic and to expose the man who stole his life. His assets: invisibility and Hermione Granger. His setbacks? invisibility and Hermione Granger.
1. Prologue

It was his old backyard, or at least he thought it was - the same stained ping-pong table, the same gigantic tree looming over from the neighbors' garden, almost the same rose bushes... He turned around to see where he had come from, and there, next to the unmanageable geranium bush, was the same glass door.

He moved his hand to the doorknob - and it vanished.

"What - ?" he croaked, unable to make a decent sound. "How - ?" His vocal cords had given up on him.

There was a deafening rumble from behind. He whirled around - there was nothing there but a small patch of blue skies up above.

The wind was blowing in his face - the dark clouds covering the yard would clear up, then, eventually. He found himself wishing it would happen soon. In this dark light, the backyard looked like some gruesome flashback (or worse, flash_forward_).

He moved away from the door. He walked slowly past the ping-pong table and out to the old umbrella. Something had happened to it and it was hanging off of its frame, all ripped and limp, but somehow still pristinely white. Beneath it were two benches - one simply old, the other cracked in two. He prodded the broken half with his foot. When nothing happened, he rolled it over - there was nothing there, not even an ant.

The wind was getting stronger, disturbing the tall grass around him; the great tree was swinging its branches. He looked back to the patch of blue sky - it had proceeded toward a small distance, but not much. Definitely not enough to make this yard just some happy memory.

He saw something bright red appear on the long-dead rosebush. He leapt to it, tripping on a rocking chair so old the seat had fallen through and the frame was peeling off in layers. Who the devil had moved it there? It had always been somewhere in a corner other there...

He looked past the chair, to the rosebush. There, a single rose bloomed, against all odds.

He reached out to pluck it, to bring it up against that bit of bright blue sky and pretend the rest of the backyard wasn't covered by a dark, stormy cloud, and with it, a thoroughly depressed feeling. The rose disappeared before he could grab it.

"Who - ?" he sputered in surprise. "Why - ?" he tried again, only to feel a pair of deathly cold hands grip his throat.

"You know perfectly well why, and who," a voice hissed in his ear.

The wind in the blue sky was advancing, and he could almost see the white clouds taking over the storm...almost...

"The only question, then, is _how_," the voice continued, pressing harder against his throat. Was there no life in there fingers, no warmth? - they felt like a corpse's...

"Yes, I am a dead man - dead because of you," the voice hissed angrily, and the man was astonished to discover that it was his own voice. "So it stands to reason that I have to kill you."

"No- please- I'm your- "

There was a very, very quiet sound, much like a knife moving smoothly into and out of a stomach, masked by a brief scream. Malfoy dropped to the ground, his eyes staring forward in absolute horror. Above him, an invisible man inspected his knife.

"I think you will find," he said, kneeling down to wipe the knife on Malfoy's robes, "that at the moment you are nothing more than my _moment."_

* * *

_"_Bad dream, Draco?"

"_No, _Goyle, I'm _always _like this. Now go away."


	2. Enter

In Diagon Alley, a very tired Ollivander was putting away his unsold wands - there hadn't been much business that day, but still enough for there to be many wands strewn around the room. There was an obsessive-looking glint in his eye as he picked them up one by one.

"Ah, my eleven-inch, holly delight. Phoenix feather, yes? So you didn't choose anyone today?" He stroked the wand and laid it carefully down in its box. "And I was so certain he was the one for you...It's all right...We'll find you someone..."

He carried the box over to the shelves and placed it into a narrow space. He turned back to look at the rest of the disheveled and jumbled-up boxes.

"Oh, my dears, you just can't seem to choose anyone, can you?" He picked up another wand. "And you, eight-inch oak? What, your unicorn hair didn't tingle at any one of them?" He put it in the box. "There were simply no _sparks, _were there?"

Wand after wand was shelved, and finally there was just one left. Ollivander sat down on a stool next to it and picked it up with his long, slender fingers.

"And you? You dragon-hearted minx. You're years older than any wand in my store. Day after day you go unsold. How wrong I was to make you - you've gotten too spoiled, my child. Just because you're the only one I ever made with dragon bits, you've decided you're too good for anyone." He chuckled and put it in the box. "But I _will _sell you. Just you wait and see." He started to close the lid, but hesitated. "I hate to put you away. It feels like giving up on you."

He made up his mind and firmly closed the lid. "You're going on the shelf just like everyone else. Hopefully it'll deflate your ridiculous ego."

He walked to the shelves as slowly as he could, and had just slid it onto the shelf when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called automatically, and turned around as the door opened.

There was no one there.

"Hello?" Ollivander called uncertainly.

"Hello," said a tired voice, and the door closed. "I'd like to buy a wand."

"Er," was all he could think to say. "What?"

"You _are _Ollivander, right?" the voice sounded nervous. "The wandmaker?"

Ollivander nodded, uneasy. "And...er..."

"I'd like to buy a wand," the voice repeated impatiently, and for a moment it almost sounded familiar.

"Who are you?" Ollivander asked cautiously.

"No one of importance. You know my name, but you've never met me; you only thought you did."

"And you'd like to buy a wand," Ollivander said stupidly.

"Yes," said the stranger, tired of discussing this.

Ollivander hesitated. This wasn't right. He really, _really _didn't want to sell one of the potentially most powerful weapons in existence to someone who he couldn't see.

"_Who are you?" _he asked again. "And I want an actual answer this time, not a riddle."

"A riddle?" the voice echoed. "What's wrong with a riddle? Do you _always_ know the names of all your customers?"

"Well, no..." Ollivander said, taken aback. "But I can see them at least...who knows what you might use your wand for?" He knew that wasn't much of a point, but there was just something obscene about selling a wand to someone who didn't appear to even have any hands to hold it.

"You can _never _know that, not with _anyone," _the voice snarled. "You sold the wand that ruined my life, and many others."

"I- what?" But it was obvious. He only had one great regret...only one wand that had nearly destroyed the world as they all knew it...

The stranger ignored his pathetic confusion and continued. "It is not your task to choose who will strive to improve the world and who will strive to destroy it. Your task is to give wizards a means to choose for themselves. I was never given such a chance..." The stranger's voice shook. "It was stolen from me." Then, suddenly calm, and a bit menacing: "Do your job."

Feeling embarassed and foolish, Ollivander selected a box form the shelf and passed it in the direction of the voice. He gasped as he felt someone take it; a moment later, the box disappeared.

"What do I do now?"

"Wave it around a bit." This was just habit now, he had no idea how often he'd said those words to terrified first years. But the voice sounded much deeper than a first year's...

"You've got to be _kidding _me, " the stranger said, and for the second time, he could've sworn he'd heard it before. There was a silence as the stranger apparently waved it around, but almost immediately it was clear that the wand was not enjoying it.

"No, not that one," Ollivander murmured, and reached out for it. It was set, invisible, into his hand, and quickly became visible again.

It was an odd phenomenon, but as the night grew older and wand after wand rejected the mysterious invisible man, Ollivander almost got used to it. It became clear, however, that even wands thought an unseen person suspicious. The stranger sounded completely dejected when, close to midnight, he asked "Is that it, then? None of them work for me?"

"It would seem so," Ollivander said, almost relieved. The wand chooses the wizard; if no wand had chosen him, it wasn't his fault.

"What about that box?" the stranger asked with a newfound energy in his voice.

"_Which _box?"

"That one, right there." Obviously, the voice couldn't point, and was very frustrated about it. Ollivander heard footsteps heading toward the shelf and tried to follow them. Suddenly, one of the boxes vanished. "_This _box."

"Well, I can't see it now, can I? If you would so kindly put it back..." He was stalling, of course; he knew where each and every wand was kept. It was just that this little twist was more than anything he had expected.

The box promptly reappeared. Ollivander opened it: sure enough, it was his dragon-hearted failure. "I made this one years ago," he said quietly, shame filling his mind, "and it still hasn't chosen anyone. I'm almost certain it's defective..."

"Give it to me," the voice said excitedly, and Ollivander handed it over.

"Really," he said, "I'd hate to sell you that piece of - "

A bright shower of red sparks erupted from the end of - well, he _assumed _it was from the wand, since he couldn't see it.

"It would seem," the stranger said, sounding pleased with himself, "that it's no more defective than I am."

That wasn't exactly reassuring, but the fact that the stranger promptly dropped a bag of Galleons on a stool and left without a word was comfort enough as far as Ollivander was concerned. You never quite knew where you stood, with invisible people.

* * *

It was already starting to lighten when Harry finally decided it was useless to try and sleep. He sat up and looked around. All was quiet in the boys' dormitory, save for Neville's occasional nightmare-induced squeal of terror. The deep, bluish morning light was tranquil, yet it creeped the hell out of him. It was the color of insomnia.

Harry got dressed and walked out into the Common Room. There was no one there to ask him what the hell he was doing up this late (or was it early?). He went to the window and looked out at the snowed-over Hogwarts grounds. There was no movement anywhere - not on the Quidditch Pitch, not on the open area around it, not in Hagrid's hut...even the Forbidden Forest was still. At least, it seemed like it...

He squinted through the age-old, rippled glass at that one little blob of forest that looked darker than the rest of it. _Stupid old windows, can't see anything._Carefully, he opened the window. The cold air numbed his skin, and he drew back instinctively, then remembered what he was looking for and stuck his head out as far as it would go.

The snow had been knocked off a few branches close to the edge of the forest, and there was an eerie flurry of snow where it should have fallen. It lasted about half a minute, then settled, and then nothing moved for seemingly ages. Then little bits of snow began to be darker, one after the other, making a strange curved line that moved gradually toward the castle.

The curve stopped abruptly, apparently uncertain that it should proceed. Then it moved forward a _tiny _little bit, as though testing its strength, then another tiny bit, and another... It stopped moving again...and restarted at twice its previous pace, heading to the castle across the Quidditch Pitch.

Harry sprinted to his trunk and started throwing his stuff out of it. Trousers, shirts, books all flew through the air until, finally, his fingers found the watery silkiness of his Invisibility Cloak... He quickly threw it on and rushed out of the Common Room. The fat lady yelled "Whozzat?" after him, but he didn't care - nothing could stop him - not the fat lady, not the Cloak's goddamn swishiness, not the closed doors that kept appearing in front of him, not the wind that whooshed past him as he opened the last door...

He ran out onto the Quidditch Pitch. There was no one in sight; no person, animal, or even wind. He gasped: the curve he'd seen earlier went right under him. . He knelt down to look at it, basically blind without his glasses...they were footprints.

_What the hell._

He turned back toward the door and opened it, looking to see if this strange intruder had left any signs of his presence inside. And so he had: there was snow on the ground, and a few feet away, Harry could see more.

Harry followed the tracks down the hall: first fallen snow, then wet footsteps...he had gone almost all the way up the stairs when the tracks stopped completely.

He continued going up, knowing the stranger must have gone somewhere in that direction. At the top, however, there were no signs of anyone whatsoever, save for a sleeping Mrs. Norris.

"Who are you?" he yelled out, and heard nothing but the echo of his words bouncing around the hall. He quickly rushed away from the echo, hoping no one had heard it. There was no chance of him finding the intruder now that there were not even any tracks. He groaned and headed back to the Gryffindor tower, carefully avoiding stepping on everyone's least favorite cat.

* * *

Hours later, a calm, after-class laze spread through Hogwarts, and had a stranger suddenly walked into almost any room in Hogwarts, they would assume that all Hogwarts students were lazy beyond belief. In fact, there were very few people in the castle who were actually interested on doing anything even vaguely useful within two hours of classes being over. At least one of them, however, had no way of doing so quite yet, and another's "productivity method" had just walked out of the library with a huge stack of books in her arms and a determined expression on her face.

Ernie looked up in surprise. "What - ?" He jumped up from his seat and ran after Hermione. "Where're you going, we're nowhere near done!"

"I've got things to do," she called back without even turning around.

"What 'things'?" Ernie asked, baffled.

"I just remembered I'd made plans to meet someone today." When his only response was silence, she finally turned around. "And don't look at me like that; I do have _some _friends, you know."

She turned and left before Ernie could even say "That's not what I - " (even though it was). He was pathetic. Ernie, a model student, suddenly pathetic. It was one thing for Cho Chang to tell him that he was "sweet and all", but that she'd go on ignoring him "for poor Mariette's sake"; it was quite another to be ditched halfway through studying by one of the most friendless girls at school. And how was he supposed to do his homework without her notes?

* * *

_I need a place where I can study..._ It was a routine thought for her now, at least as far as this particular hallway was concerned. _I need a place where I can study..._she deliberately looked down at her feet and kept on walking. _I need a place where I can study... Really, really study... _And now, finally, she turned around to see a dark wooden door that hadn't been there a minute ago.

She stepped in. As always, there were bookshelves lining the walls. She found the exact place where she'd stopped last time. _A History of Magic, _all the _Standard Books of Spells _they'd had so far, all of her Potions notes…a rather small heap when compared to the enormous one that she had yet to brave. Oh, yes, remembering every book she read was easy…provided she had read it recently. She did, in fact, do far more reading than the rest of the students – she was well known for it – and of course everyone knew that Hermione Granger reviewed endlessly, but they had no idea just how endlessly.

Occupying this sad niche of class brainiac was both difficult and depressing sometimes. Hermione _knew _that she could be spending most of this stupid study time being socially interactive, and that if she'd just forget about the books for a while, she'd have time to straighten and sleek-ify her hair, put on makeup each morning, buy some heels, and never have to hear the word "ugly" again.

And sometimes she wondered why she didn't. After all, here at Hogwarts there was no mother to ask her what on earth she was wearing, no father looking at her sadly if she didn't do her homework, no one who was ever seen taking class seriously and glaring at you if you didn't – here, that was considered her job. And yet…there was one thing that Hermione Granger of Hogwarts and the true Hermione had in common, and that was a complete unwillingness to give up on anything she started.

She sighed...and then froze. Somewhere in that sigh she had heard something quite strange...definitely a sound she hadn't made...

She turned around, but saw nothing...except an open door.

Her breathing accelerated to an alarming speed. Who had seen her?

The door slammed shut.

"What?" she shouted, as close to venting as she could get right now. _What?...What?...What?_

And against all odds, someone answered. "I'm sorry. Can you help me?"

* * *

"I'm so sorry. Are you alright? I really didn't mean to startle you..."

_What the hell._

Hermione's eyes were squeezed shut from the impact of the fall. Taking care not to open them, she assessed her situation.

_Okay, so my back hurts and I probably made a very stupid face when I fell, too. Probably no major injuries, though._

It was really uncomfortable to lie on a chair like this. She squirmed around, trying to understand how on earth she could have sat on it properly when it was upright. She really had no clue. It was really amazing how uncomfortable a _chair _could be.

She knew he was still there; he was breathing warmly on her face. In fact, he seemed quite close. She slowly picked up her hand, wincing at the dull pain it caused her. Feeling quite silly, she poked the air in front of her. He was one step ahead of her, however: a sharp intake of breath and a step away were the only evidence of his presence.

She opened her eyes, afraid of what she might see. She then became much more afraid of what she _didn't _see.

"What- ?" She was very irritated to discover that her voicebox had practically shut down. _Come on, Hermione, you're the cleverest witch of your age and you can't even form a sentence? _"Who are you?" she finally choked out.

"Don't ask me that," he said softly. "Please."

_What the hell._

_"_Er, all right then... Why are you here?"

"I need your help." The voice sounded annoyed, and almost...familiar?

"Right, well, I - " she was shocked to discover that she was hyperventilating. While on the ground. It felt really, really awkward. "At the moment, it would appear that _I _need _your _help." She rolled to the right, finally escaping the chair's uncomfortable clutches, and extended her hand toward the stranger.

She felt another hand grasp hers and felt a vague tug up. _Right, I'm supposed to be putting in some effort too. Right. _She pushed herself up a bit and suddenly found herself on her feet.

"Thank you." She adjusted her robes and looked the stranger into what she hoped was his eye. "What was it you needed help with?"

"Teach me magic."

"What?"

"Teach me magic; there is no one else who would do it, not at _this _school. Possibly not even in the world."

It took a while for Hermione to process what he was saying. "Look, I know the whole thing with near-human species not being allowed to do magic is stupid and racist, but I don't want to break the law..."

"I'm not near-human," the stranger said quietly. "I'm as human as you are. I'm just...different." There was something terribly close to sorrow in his voice.

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that." The voice was almost inaudible now.

"So what do I do? Just hope that you're telling the truth and teach you everything I know?"

"Yes." Before she could say anything, he continued. "Even if you don't want to talk to me...all you have to do is say yes _now. _I'd follow you to classes, read your notes, watch you study. If I want to survive, if I want to actually live life instead of being locked away from it, I must have _abilities, _I must be educated..." And then, completely out-of-place in this passionate speech, Hermione heard a sob. "Please, please help me. You have no idea how long it took to get here. Right at this moment, I'm almost glad I'm invisible - if you had seen me, you would have been even more terrified of me."

_Think, girl, think...this would be a silent rebellion, like you've always wanted...if only the nerdiest silent rebellion in the world..._

He continued, speaking quicker and quicker, emotion overtaking thought in everything he said. "If you had seen me, you would have screamed. Believe me, I am quite a sight right now. My robe is ripped, my hair is dirty and matted, my face is grimy and scratched-up. My fingernails have been broken to the point where I wouldn't be able to untie a shoelace. And my arms..." Suddenly, he grabbed her hand, dragging it along his arm. It felt wet. He then let go and stood there, panting.

Hermione looked at her hand in confusion, and then gasped: blood had suddenly appeared on her fingertips. What was really strange was that it was thick, almost...congealed.

She looked up at where she thought his face was. "What happened to you?"

"...I've escaped." She automatically stepped back. "I promise you, I haven't done anything wrong - at least, nothing that you wouldn't think fully justified. I _will _do something wrong, but that will be later...much later... but even that, I think you would understand. Help me. I would do anything for this. Help me, Miss Granger, please...You want me to beg? I'll beg." She heard a shuffle, and suddenly he was grabbing her feet. "You want me to be your slave? I'll do anything for you: I'll steal food, I'll do your laundry, I'll carry your books: _anything. _But please, please help me."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking this over. "Am I correct in thinking that if I refuse, you're still going to follow me around until I say yes?"

"Maybe. Yes."

"Let's assume, then, that I have said no."

There was the sound of footsteps; for a second, Hermione's hyperventilating started up again. Then a hand touched hers. She gasped and moved it - and felt that same warm hand that had helped her up a few minutes go, shaking hers. "Thank you, Miss Granger. You have no idea how important this is."

"You're...welcome?"

She felt him drop her hand and heard him step away.

"Oh, and...um... it's just Hermione."

* * *

"Come on, you admitted yourself that you need this..."

"This is embarrassing, Miss Granger."

"It's Hermione, and I can't even see you!"

"But you're _there..."_

Hermione crossed her arms and glared angrily at where she hoped his eyes were. "Look, let's put it this way. Where do you plan on sleeping for the next year?"

The stranger was confused. "Huh? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Really, answer the question. I'm already missing dinner for this."

"I...hadn't thought about, really..."

"Well, what I'm guessing is that wherever you'll sleep, I'll have to lend you some sheets. And probably a blanket and pillow, too." She paused to let this sink in. "And I do _not _want..._blood _or _dirt _or anything like that on my stuff."

"I suppose that makes sense..." The voice sounded pained; after all, he'd just understood that embarassment was unavoidable.

"So _get in._" She gestured toward the compicated bathtub.

"_Mrrghhh." _

**xxx**

**Please review!**


	3. Overanalytical

**And the story continues...**

**xxx**

Harry woke up to the sounds of "You got it Neville? You got it?" He sat up and looked groggily around the dorm.

"Good morning, guys," he said.

"Oh, hey, Harry!" Neville called out from under the bed. He tried to pull out, but a bit too fast, and banged his head on the bed. "We were wondering when you'd wake up," he added.

His hands were empty, and so his quest for the sock continued, his bottom once again stuck up in the air.

"Harry, you'd better hurry, breakfast ends in ten minutes."

Harry looked at the clock and groaned: he wasn't even dressed yet. "Go on without me, I'll be along...soon..."

There was a squeal of triumph, a loud bang, and then a sad little "owwwww", and then Neville emerged, holding a neon yellow sock.

"Er...Neville?" Harry asked.

"Yes?"

"Your other sock is gray. Why is that one...like that?"

Neville squinted at him weirdly. "This is my _lucky _sock," he said, in a this-is-completely-obvious tone of voice.

There was a moment during which no one said anything. Then Harry's shoulders started to shake uncontrollably, and soon he and Ron were laughing their heads off.

"It's not funny," Neville said. "It really is lucky, you know."

"What, exactly, makes it lucky?"

"My gran soaked it with Felix Felicis when I was a kid," Neville said proudly.

Harry narrowed his eyes in confusion. "And you've...never washed it since?"

"Ew!" Neville exclaimed. "No, I have! Many times!"

"Then isn't the Felix all gone by now?"

"Oh, yes," Neville said. "It's still lucky, though."

"Er...Okay, Neville. Whatever you say."

* * *

"Pass the knife, Ron," Hermione said.

"Hermione..." Ron said warily. "How are you _doing _that?"

"What?"

"You've gotten way ahead of everybody else. Your beans are all but juicing themselves."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Well, I guess I do need to _slow down,_" she said quietly, and gradually, her progress slowed.

* * *

"Today we will be reviewing the Summoning Spell, as I've noticed many of you using it...improperly."

Hermione blushed and looked over at Harry, thinking of the time he'd practically "crammed" 'accio' for the Triwizard Tournament.

Ron and Harry paired up, as usual, but Hermione sat off to the side, trying to avoid making eye contact with Neville.

Soon the air was full of zooming objects, and Hemione sat there, holding her wand arm carefully out, muttering to herself for some reason.

"No, wand arm like that...a kind of a pulling motion, yes..." She demonstrated the 'pulling motion', paused two seconds, and continued. "Now...accio!"

A chocolate frog flew in through the window and landed on her desk. She broke it in half and started chewing on the head, leaving the butt and legs on the table.

"Excellent, Miss Granger!" Flitwick exclaimed. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Ron groaned: his last attempt to summon something had resulted with the Charms book crashing into his face.

"Oi, Hermione, can I have the rest of your Chocolate Frog?"

"Sure!" Hermione said, and reached to take it, but it was not there. "Oops! Sorry, I must have eaten that."

Ron looked at her questioningly."Must have?"

"Yes," she said, and stared directly into his eyes until he looked away, at which point, if one listened closely, one could hear her mutter "Dammit, I wanted that."

* * *

"Okay, so next's Transfiguration, I checked up on the schedule, I think we might be doing faces..."

"Hermione!" Ron yelled.

"What?"

"Look, we've got our own schedules, we don't need you to tell us everything."

"I'm not talking to _you, _Ron!"

"Hermione, talking to yourself is not a good sign. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" Harry inquired.

"No, I _don't need to see Madam Pomfrey." _Hermione said angrily.

"Are you sure about that, Granger?" A cold voice drawled. "I hear she's been trying out the old bleeding out method... Although in your case, I suppose she wouldn't do that - wouldn't want the dishes all _muddy."_

"Go away, Malfoy," Ron snarled. Hermione heard a little gasp beside her.

"Aw, how cute. The Weasel protecting his little Mudblood girlfriend. I'm touched." He walked up to them. "But you should really save it all for..._later."_

_"_Okay, Malfoy, what the hell are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"And hello there, _Potty_. When d'you get to be such a _potty-mouth?"_

"Really, Malfoy, that's getting old. I mean..._potty? _Really?"

"If I were you, Potter, I wouldn't talk about things getting old," an approaching Snape said, "Because while you'd _think _you'd get sick of me...you just never do."

_I'm already sick of you! _Harry wanted to scream. _Relax...calm down..._

"What do you mean?"

"Detention, Potter. With me. Tonight."

"For what?"

Snape paused for a moment. "For insulting Mr. Malfoy here and trying to provoke a fight."

"_Harry _trying to provoke a fight?" Ron fumed. "_Malfoy's _the one who started it, are you _mental - ?"_

"Silence, Weasley. And as delightful as your endless blabbering is, I think Potter enjoys it rather more than me, which is why you'll be joining him in detention tonight."

And, as upset as she was at Snape's endless discrimination, Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved.

* * *

Hermione collapsed into the chair.

"I'm sorry. I really can't do this."

"But why, Miss Granger?"

Nothing had been said that could have thrown anyone into a panic attack, especially since Hermione Granger was known for her calm, rational mind. Now, however, her rationality failed her.

"Why?" she asked, her tone dangerously low. "_Why?" _It was almost a screech now, and if you listened closely, you could hear someone taking a hurried step away. "Because I'm terrified, that's why. I mean _Harry, _okay, he's always suspicious, but if _Ron's _noticed something's up, then it won't be long before a teacher will!" She was up now, pacing the room. "And besides, now _Malfoy _knows something's going on, and he hates me! Oh, this is _it. _He's going to track me down and find out and tell on me and I'll be _expelled, _all because of you."

There was a silence as Tom, as he'd asked to be called, absorbed this.

"Most likely no one's noticed. It's not important to them."

"Of course it's important! 'Hermione Granger, top of her class, hosts an alien invader' or whatever it is you are. Won't everyone just _love _to know all about that."

"Will you please - just - listen?" Tom said through invisibly gritted teeth.

"No, I won't - mrgh!"

"_Sit," _Tom said, "and _calm down."_

He kept his hand on her mouth for a few minutes, letting her calm down.

"Now listen to me. Of course you think we're being obvious - it's obvious to you, you know about. And of course you expect everyone to start thinking about it and brooding and brooding and eventually figure it out - it's all _you _can think about. But they have no reason to think about it. And even if they start brooding, there's no _way _they can guess the truth.

Hermione just sat there, shocked. Just a bit more, she thought. Please, yell some more - I'll know who you are...

"Miss Granger? I'm sorry I touched you. Please say something?"

Oh, goddammit all.

"Miss Granger, believe me, I know this from experience. When someone's built a room with no exits, they'll worry about _anything _but the person in it escaping."

Hermione's brain gave a little shriek of realization. She got up and went to the shelves. _I need the recent Azkaban records...Azkaban files...Azkaban news..._

To her surprise, the Room of Requirement did not come up with what she needed. She was about to shrug it off as a glitch in the spell when she noticed a little gray book on the floor.

She picked it up, examined it, and looked up in horror to where she assumed Tom was. She looked back to the book, hoping she had misread it, but Hermione Granger never misread...

"_Dealing with Child Abuse," _by Devon Moses, Healer 1st Class.

* * *

"He gave us detention! Again!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, you've been saying that for the past two hours."

"But he gave us _detention!"_

Harry frowned at the Marauders' Map in his lap. There was no sign of anyone who wasn't supposed to be there - and he'd been so sure...

"Harry, what are you doing?" Ron asked, finally noticing that Harry wasn't paying much attention to his ranting.

"Do you see anything extra on the map?"

"No..." Ron peered at it. "Well, not exactly..."

"What?"

"Well...Hermione's missing."

* * *

"They kept you locked up?" Hermione asked, tears in her eyes.

Tom was silent.

"Tom! Answer me, please..."

"Not _they_..." his voice was barely a whisper.

"What?"

"Not _they..._he."

"Your father?"

"yes"

"For...how long?"

"Since I was about a year old."

"But why?" Hermione asked, then regretted it - there was rarely any real "why" behind the actions of a madman, and if you looked for it, you found only madness.

"C-can we talk about this later?"

"Okay," Hermione said. "Let's see, we stopped at_ 'The Standard Book of Spells, Level 1', _page eight. Oh, this one's good..."

* * *

Tom proved to be an excellent student, and come December he had mastered three grades' worth of "_Standard Book"_s. He was probably the only student at Hogwarts who didn't laugh at Hermione when she started spouting information (and _definitely _the only one who thanked her and asked her for more).

As time went on, Hermione got used to her new, slightly complicated way of life. The prefects were a bit confused as to why she now needed the special bathroom every other day (instead of the usual, once a week) and the house elves were more tired of her campaigns than ever before (since she visited the kitchen everyday, smuggling out food) but, for the most part, nobody batted an eyelash.

The only people who noticed anything were Harry, Ron, and Ernie (who had all but taken Hermione's place in the process of trying to get her back as a study partner). The more she was gonem the more annoying they got - to the point where they purposely got detention all together so that the "Hermione-Hunting Society" (as she thought of it) could convene without their schoolmates' attention.

It was strange - she was almost never on the map. Once they tracked her across and discovered that she had gone into the Room of Requirement ("How did we not guess?"), but when they rushed to the Room and burst in, they found her sitting there, along, reading.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron had asked.

"_Studying, _what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Alone?" This was Ernie, who couldn't believe she'd ditched studying with him for studying alone.

"Do _you _see anyone?"

"Well...no."

"Then the question is settled isn't it?"

"Why do you have a bed in here?" Ron blurted out.

"I don't know, maybe one of you is tired," Hermione said, keeping her eyes on her book. "Incidentally...are you guys staying for Christmas?"

"No...Harry's going to my house. Aren't you going too?"

"Well, I don't know. Probably..."

"Good."

They left, and Hermione sighed.

"You can talk now."

The HHS relaxed a little after that , but Hermione was more tense than ever - they'd always come back. She could hardly blame them - she was gone almost all the time now, and she saw them only in class, at mealtimes, and right before she went to bed in the dorms. Still, how on Earth was she supposed to sneak Tom into the Burrow? Leaving him here was absolutely out of the question.

* * *

"Granger!"

Hermione didn't even bother to turn around - only one person had the nerve to address her like that.

"Get lost, Malfoy..." she muttered under her breath. Not only was she simply not in the mood, Tom was with her, and already she felt guilty that his studying time was constantly being taken away by her personal conversations.

"I _heard _that, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "God, it's just such a _disgrace_. A _mudblood _walking the hallowed halls of Hogwarts..."

Hermione shook her head and left in a hurry.

* * *

"Why is...Malfoy...so mean to you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sighed. "He believes in so-called 'pure wizarding blood', and I'm a muggle-born. That's basically the worst thing possible, for him..."

"But why?"

"Because he was raised by racists."

"Is that all it takes to turn a person evil, then? The wrong kind of upbringing?"

"Hey, Malfoy's not _evil_...well, not yet anyway. But I know Voldemort spent his childhood in an orphanage, and Grindelwald was just really messed up."

"But _I'm _not evil!" Tom protested. "And you can't say _my _childhood was normal."

"Maybe it's not the kind of traumatic experience that breaks you. Maybe it was the kind that makes you stronger."

"Maybe..." Tom trailed off.

"...you never did tell me what actually happened to you," Hermione pointed out.

"Come now, Miss Granger," Tom said in a terrifying attempt to sound cheerful and upbeat, "it's almost Christmas. It's no time for scary stories like that!"

"But after Christmas, you'll tell me right?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. After Christmas."

**xxx**

**I love doing this. So much. You have no idea. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review. The button's right there. You know you want to... I will post the next chapter once I reach 11 reviews.**


	4. An Unexpected Encounter

**Thanks for the reviews, guys! Sorry for not sticking to my word about when I would post, but I honestly didn't expect to get 11 reviews so quickly and I'm sort of busy (yes, upperclassmen, you can scorn my so-called 'busyness'). I'm glad...keep reviewing!**

**Also, I love your guys' speculations about Tom's identity. It really is very interesting to read. Only one person has gotten close, but it was so close, and yet so far... Hehehe. I love doing this.**

**xxx**

The journey to the Burrow was, as usual, short and simple. It had taken quite a bit of practice with Tom to get both of them through the Floo channel at the same time, but after it was all over, Hermione had to admit it had been a success. True, the fire had felt hotter around her than before, but at least no one had noticed anything.

"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley attempted to hug her while levitating five pies and a giant hairball at the same time. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"You too, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, slightly worried about the pie that was almost hovering above her ear.

When Mrs. Weasley released her, Hermione took a step back and muttered under her breath, "follow me".

"You'll be in my room," Ginny said, and Hermione walked after her. Again, the days of practice paid off: she couldn't hear Tom's footsteps behind her. She did, however, seem to be hearing her own footsteps in stereo.

Ginny opened the door. "Come in."

Hermione walked in quickly, praying desperately that Ginny wouldn't notice that the breeze behind her lasted a split second longer than it should have. She proceeded to put her trunk on the floor, listening carefully for the little extra "thump" to come from its direction. It didn't, and she was relieved once again.

Ginny smirked. "I see you've gotten neater, if that was even possible."

"What do you mean?"

"You usually just plop your bag on the bed. Just let it bounce."

Hermione smiled nervously - they'd tried that, and it had been a disaster. "Yeah, I guess I'm more OCD-like than I thought." She smiled wider - now the twice-as-long showers wouldn't be a problem.

Maybe, just maybe, they could pull this off.

* * *

"Hermione...we're going to Diagon Alley today, you want to come?"

_I don't know, do I? Does _he?

"Why today?"

"Well, it's Christmas tomorrow, and..."

"...ah. Last-minute stuff. Yeah, I'll go."

"Be downstairs in ten minutes, okay?"

Ginny left, and after putting a Silencing charm on the door, Hermione turned to the corner. "You coming?"

"I didn't realize I had a choice," Tom said coldly.

"What? Of course you've got a choice, you can either come with me or - "

"Or stay here and wreak havoc, yes?"

"Tom...I thought we'd been over this..."

"Yes, you did seem to say something like 'Tom, you can't be anywhere alone because you creep me out.' I definitely remember that."

"Tom!"

"What? Isn't it rue? You can't see me, so you can't trust me. That's what the wandmaker thought, too."

"Tom!"

"You think, because I'm invisible, I can steal whatever the hell I want, I can kill anyone, I can sneak up to some girl and rape her... I feel like a creep just being in the same room as you because it feels like I'm watching you, but Miss Granger, I'm not going to do anything bad."

"_I never said you were going to!" _Hermione near-shrieked. "Now will you please _listen?"_

"Okay..."

"You're coming with me to Diagon Alley. I'll give you some money if you want it, and we'll go our separate ways. And listen closely to what time they tell us to come back."

"Okay, Miss Granger. Might I just disagree with one thing though?"

"Yes?"

"I have money already."

Hermione frowned. "How?"

"My father was a bit...strange. He made a point of giving me monthly allowance, gloating about how I'd never use it. Ten years' worth of monthly allowance..."

"That's great!" Hermione said. "Well, it's really depressing actually, but at least you can buy things."

Tom chuckled darkly, remembering Ollivander. This was going to be complicated.

She checked her watch. "Come on, let's go downstairs."

* * *

Diagon Alley was coated with shining white snow. It was everywhere: on the ground, on every roof, every doormat, every porch... Even the shop signs had amusing little blocks of snow on top of them. It was freshly fallen, and it crunched merrily under Hermione's feet as she walked and looked around curiously.

She'd found presents for Harry and Ron ages ago, but Ginny, so far, remained presentless. It was harder this year than before, since she couldn't rely on candy or a bracelet or something - that was Dean's job now, and it was up to her to find something slightly less boyfriend-like.

* * *

Tom stepped gingerly across porches, jumping out of the way when people walked out of stores. He inwardly cursed the snow that forced him to move in this stupid manner: he could have covered twice as much distance if not for the damned white stuff. He didn't have much time...

* * *

It was perfect: a snow globe that helped you answer questions in class. Hermione wouldn't normally give something like this, but she felt like she could trust Ginny not to rely on it completely. Now came the most difficult gift of all...

If you really thought about it, it didn't need to be all that hard. She was his only friend, and considering his depressing (and somewhat mysterious) past, it was very likely he'd never gotten a Christmas present in his life. He didn't have any kind of standard for gifts, so it didn't need to be so complicated. On the other hand, for exactly that reason, Hermione wanted to give him something special. Something that was likely to set that standard to some acceptable level.

* * *

"So, Hermione, how was your shopping trip?" Ginny asked, waggling her eyebrows at her in a slightly creepy way.

"Great, I can stop freaking out about this Christmas stuff now," Hermione lied. There was still, after all, the reception of the gifts...

"Nah, there's still the mistletoe," Ginny joked. "And there's Harry, I think that's it now," she announced. "Can we go?"

"_Tom?"_ Hermione whispered quietly, just to confirm.

Silence.

"Uh...I think I forgot something, I'll be right back."

She hurried off, looking around for signs of...well, she wasn't sure what of. At first she kept looking for trailing footprints, but realized that Tom would have to be smarter than that.

_Especially if he didn't want to be found..._

She cursed her little insecurity-voice, and continued on, whispering "_Tom?" _every two minutes.

"Yesh?"

She turned around and saw an old man grinning toothlessly at her. His hair (or at least what was left of it) was stuck together in shiny gray clumps, he smelled strongly of fermented carpets, and for some reason he was wearing a neon yellow jumpsuit.

"Excuse me?"

"Ya shaid 'Tom'. That'sh me name, that ish." He leaned in toward her. "Ya looking for shome advice? Shome fun? Shome drinks?" He got even closer, and she smelled what might, since it was coming out of his mouth, technically be called his breath."'Cosh tha'sh me all over."

"I don't think so." she said, then realized that she was being incredibly stupid. "Actually, I've got a question for you."

"Yesh?"

"You didn't happen to bump into someone who wasn't there, did you? Like a solid bit of air? A bit that said 'excuse me, sir' afterward?"

"Yer not a little bit drunkie, are ya?" She shook her head. "Would ya like to be?"

"I think I'll pass, thanks."

"Then what're ya doin' up thish here alley, anywaysh?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Shomeone? _Shomeone? I'm _a shomeone..." He grinned even wider. It was amazing how far his mouth could stretch, and it gave Hermione the feeling that soon she would be able to see his ears in his mouth.

"I- I meant someone specific."

"It don't get much more shpeshific than me..."

She took a step back, hoping he wouldn't advance any further, but he did...and stopped. He frowned, then tried again. He seemed to have hit an invisible wall.

Hermione smiled. "You may want to take a step back, and _now."_

His eyes widened, and he turned and ran.

"Tom, where the _hell _were you?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere. You can hardly blame me, since you came here too, and I presume you have somewhat more experience than I..."

Hermione looked around, and when she realized where she was, she started laughing. "Knockturn Alley, of all places. Amazing."

They started walking back. "You know, for a second I thought that guy was you."

"Since when do I have a lisp?"

"I don't know, okay? At least it was better than thinking you'd ditched me."

"I wouldn't do that, Miss Granger."

"Good to know. Okay, we should shut up now, there's the rest of them..."

* * *

Ginny didn't snore, but there _was _a sort of _whoosh_ing sound that filled the air every few seconds that was driving Hermione insane.

She pulled out her wand. Ginny was going to be somewhat surprised in the morning, but that was ages from now, and Hermione really needed to sleep. "_Silencio"_

She listened intently, then burrowed under her covers, content to finally be able to sleep.

_whoosh._

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. She pulled out her wand again. "_Silencio," _she repeated, her wand now pointed at the corner.

She listened again. Silence, and nothing but the...

_whoosh._

She got up and looked around the room. There was hardly any light, but at least the moon was out tonight, and she could see that there really wasn't anything else that couldn't be making the sound.

Unless...

She opened the window. There was an enormous tree there, which in the daylight looked quite pretty, but right now it just looked ominous.

"Hello?" she said, wondering what on Earth she did that for. Because, after all, if there _was _someone there, knowing about it wouldn't exactly help her fall asleep.

"I'm not here," came the reply, and there was a brilliant flash of white light, leaving a little wisp of smoke on one of the branches.

Hermione shivered and stared at it. It curled up and shaped into an oval.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, Granger."

"Who are you?" she whispered, afraid of waking someone up.

"I can't quite say. But you shouldn't have a problem with that, you're used to speaking to people without identities..."

Hermione's hands had gone quite numb from terror. She could see something like a face forming on the oval: two eyes, a gradually growing nose...

"I don't know what you're talking about. _Who are you?"_

"I'm nothing but a spell, Granger."

_What, I never learned this, this is _impossible!

"Who cast you?"

"It should be fairly obvious," the oval said, and as it did, she could see a darkened opening moving on it: it had developed a mouth.

"It really isn't."

"Good-bye, Granger. I'd say good luck, but I honestly don't want you to have any."

The oval vanished.

Hermione backed away slowly. For a second before the oval was gone, it had solidified into a clearly focused face, and there was no mistaking that hair and those eyes...

She crept back to bed, un-Silencing Ginny and Tom in the process. She feel asleep, and sure enough, the face of Lucius Malfoy stayed with her until she woke up.

**xxx**

**Whoa, drama! That was random. I honestly had no idea that would happen.**

**I honestly don't think I'll have time to post another chapter until summer break, but when I come back to write, I'd love to have at least 30 reviews piled up...hint hint nudge nudge...**


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